School of Hard Knocks
by poestheblackcat
Summary: The Leverage team sends de-aged Eliot back to school, much to his annoyance. Post-"Sky's Gonna Open." Posted for zippy zany's birthday, since she has been asking for this fic for a very long time. Happy birthday, hun!
1. Evil 101

Summary: The Leverage team sends de-aged Eliot back to school, much to his annoyance. Post-"Sky's Gonna Open." Posted for **zippy zany**'s birthday, since she has been asking for this fic for a very long time. Happy birthday, hun!

This chapter was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but I eventually decided that it would be best used as an intro to a larger fic. But here's the original summary: "A study of Erics, Eriks, and Ericks. Lindsey and the Leverage team have a discussion about the evilness of Erics (and Eriks and Ericks) and the correct spelling of names."

This is how this chapter came about: I was watching the episode where they have the Eric/k discussion and the "evil" bit stuck in my head. Like… "Would Lindsey know that? Yeah, he'd totally know about it…probably…maybe?" And so began this chapter that doesn't make any sense at all if you want to read it out loud, but (probably) makes sense if you only read it.

Also, because **zippy** said that she wanted this story for her birthday and I promised her the first chapter, this story is not finished. I'm about 8 chapters in out of who knows how many. Pretty please be patient. (So much for that 2012 New Year's resolution which was actually working for me up to a point…)

In the chronology of this verse, this takes place right around the vicinity of after "Bibliophile."

Title: From the song of the same name that Christian Kane sang on _Fame L.A._

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**School of Hard Knocks**

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**Evil 101**

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"How do you spell that?"

Lindsey's hand pauses over the yellow legal pad, waiting for the correct spelling from Hardison. He glances up. "Is that Eric with a 'C' or 'K'?"

"What?" he asks when all he gets are horrified stares. "Seriously. What?"

"See? I _told_ you!" crows Parker. "Eric with a 'C' is nice, Erik with a 'K' is evil. Lindsey would know. He used to be evil."

"Uh," he says, not knowing whether to be offended or not. She didn't mean to be offensive, he knows that, but being called evil by "family" is different from when it comes from an over-hair-gelled enemy (or you know, thinking it about oneself). Because while he did work for evil, being a screw in the colossal machinations of evil is different from actually _being_ evil, isn't it?

And seriously. What? Evil Erik?

"Actually," he says slowly, "I just wanted to know because I'm taking notes." He taps his pen on his notepad. They stare. "I'm a little anal about spelling names correctly," he says defensively, "People always want to spell mine with an 'A'."

"Landsey?" Parker questions, trying it out. "La-La-La-Landsey. Laaandsey."

"Linds_**ay**_," Linds_**ey**_ growls. "It's bad enough that people laugh when they hear my name. They don't need to spell it wrong into the bargain," he continues, getting into a rant about his pet peeve.

"Who cares?" Eliot says, crossing his arms. "The guy's name 'Eric'! Sounds the same as 'Erik.'"

"That's because you don't give a crap about whether people spell your name with a double 'L' or not!" Lindsey retorts.

Eliot (or Elliot [or Elliott, for that matter]) snorts. "Really? And here I was thinkin' it was because Mama gave _me_ a _boy's_ name," he says smugly.

Lindsey bristles.

"_Oh no, he didn't,"_ mutters Hardison.

"_Oh yes, he did!"_ whisper-shouts Parker gleefully. She claps and bounces in her seat with a wide grin.

However, much to their disappointment, Lindsey isn't in the mood to argue with his brother. "How's the guy's name spelled?" he asks Hardison through gritted teeth.

Hardison, seeing that he isn't about to be treated to a show, resignedly opens his mouth to spell the name of the man in question, but is interrupted by Sophie's raised hand.

"What if he spells it with both?" she wants to know.

"What?"

"E-R-I-C-K," she spells, "That's a kind of Eric. And does it apply to the feminine version of the name? Is Erika with a 'K' evil, too?" she asks, thinking of a certain character on a popular American soap opera for which, by the way, she had once auditioned.

Parker heaves an immense sigh. "Erick with a 'C-K' is evil when he doesn't care about being good. He can be good if he wants to be. Kinda like Landsey," she says, ignoring the narrowing of Lindsey's eyes ("Fake Eliot," he can deal with, but "Landsey"? There's only so much he's willing to put up with.). "That's the difference between Erik with a 'K' and Erick with a 'C-K'. And it's the same with girls," she adds on. "You guys seriously didn't know this?"

"Guys," the long-suffering Nate interrupts, "Can we move on with this?"

"But it's an interesting theory," Sophie protests. "I mean, I can definitely apply it to _some_ people I've known."

"Mm-hm," agrees Hardison, "There was this guy from high school. Definitely evil. I see it now. Evil."

"What about you, Landsey?" Parker asks innocently.

"_Lindsey!"_ explodes Lindsey. "It's 'Lindsey,' Parker. With an 'I'."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," groans Eliot, flopping back on the couch (before Parker can try out "Landsie"), "We get it! Everyone an' their mother knows how ta spell your name, Linny. L-I-N- " He breaks off with a strange expression and starts again.

"L-I...L-I-N-_**D**_-S-E-Y!" he finishes determinedly, his face red. Then he runs out of the room, Bandit following him out, dog tags jangling.

Parker purses her lips. "Ummm. That was bad, right?"

"Yeah," Hardison agrees grimly. "That was bad."

Nate sighs softly. "He's forgetting."

"Lindsey?" Sophie calls to the hitter, who's sitting next to her, numbly staring in the direction in which his brother has just fled. "Are you alright?"

He gathers his thoughts with a shake and stands up, "Yeah. Yeah, fine."

Then he heads out the door after Eliot, mouth set in a grim line.

"Is he mad?" asks Parker worriedly. "He's mad because Eliot messed up his name."

"He's not angry," Sophie assures the thief, "He's concerned. That's different."

Parker scrunches her nose. "How is that different? He yells both ways. They both do."

"Cain't argue with that logic," nods Hardison sagely from his corner. "They get kinda loud. Disrupts my zen, y'know? Gotta have my zen to keep the genius flowin'."

Parker agrees. "Yeah, and then Eliot starts hitting Landsey, and Landsey starts hitting Eliot. And then Bandit barks a lot."

Sophie huffs. "Alright. That's enough from the peanut gallery, thank you very much. Nate," she says, turning to the mastermind, "We've got to do something about- " she glances towards the door, and says softly, "about Eliot."

Nate steeples his fingers in front of him. "What do you mean, 'do something'?"

"You saw him," she hisses, "He's forgetting. Sooner or later, he'll be a complete- "

"Child?" Nate finishes. "Yes, probably. There's nothing we can do, if that's how the- " Here, he fishes for the word, still slightly unwilling to accept the very real existence of _magic._ "How the spell works. We'll adapt our plans as he...degenerates."

"'Degenerates,'" Sophie scoffs. "You say it as if it's a disease! He's not sick." She realizes what she has just said the moment she says it. "I-"

Nate's mouth hardens, "I'm well aware of that fact, Sophie." He studiously ignores the cautious edging away of Parker and Hardison out of the room and continues, "It's something we need to discuss with Lindsey."

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Special AN: Happy birthday, **zippy**! Hope this wasn't too cliffy!

Regular, boring, explain-y AN: Okay, okay, I admit it. It really bugs me when people spell Lindsey with an "A-Y" instead of "E-Y". And the same goes for "Elliot" and "Elliott." Like seriously. Look up how to spell the characters' names before posting the darn story, people! Typos, fine. That's once or twice. That's okay, but consistently spelling your "favorite" character's name wrong? Unacceptable. So Lindsey's pet peeve here is actually mine.

The soap opera character whom Sophie references is Erica Kane of _All My Children._ I just had to stick that in there because *giggles* Kane. Hehe.

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Anon review replies – I keep forgetting! *sadness* Sorry and thank you!:

**Drjones**: (for "Coffee Break") Yes, exactly right. Something is going to happen, and the story is going to get action-y and dramatic-like really fast. *nods* (for "Hey Man Nice Shot") More? Umm…no? Because it's a one-shot! *snorts at pun* Thanks!

**Kaitibell**: ("Hey Man Nice Shot") Thank you! Glad you liked!

**Kyla**: ("Glasses") Sorry you snorted your coffee. I hope nothing short-circuited. ;D

**Tempus Rose**: ("Misunderstanding") Yes, Parker is like that…So am I, for that matter… ;D ("Terminal") Spot-on, actually. Yes, Eliot's pan was ruined, and he was very upset at all of them for that. But then again, they're his family, so he forgives them in the end, and he does go down fighting, just like he wanted. Thanks!


	2. Still

AN: Whoa, still a lot of interest in this 'verse, huh? It's been about a year and a half since I started it, and I had no idea that it would 1) get this long or that 2) people will still be reading it and enjoying it. Thanks!

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**Still**

Lindsey follows Eliot into Nate's spare bedroom, now transformed into a part-time bedroom for Eliot (he lives at Lindsey's place the rest of the time).

Although he knows that Eliot is in the room somewhere, when he first steps in, he can't place where he is. Then ah-hah! There, under the bed.

He walks on over to the Batman-themed bed and sits down on the floor next to it with a sigh.

"C'mon outta there, El," he says, "I can't talk to ya if I can't see ya."

"Sure ya can," comes the muffled reply, "What're ya doin' now?"

Lindsey huffs. "C'mon, El." He crouches on his hands and knees with a disgruntled grumble and peers under the bed. His now baby brother's face looks back at him, eyes suspiciously shiny. Bandit, also hiding under the bed, licks his muzzle.

"Eliot. Come out."

"Go 'way, Linny," Eliot says, and scoots back further with a sniffle, burying his face in the dog's spotted side.

"I'm not goin' in there after ya," Lindsey says.

"Then don't! Go 'way!"

"No." Lindsey sits up and leans his back against the bedside table. "I'm stayin' right here 'til you get out from under there."

"Not gonna," Eliot says stubbornly. Lindsey's hand is right there, dangling in his sightline, and it's just begging to be stabbed. Or something. Tickled? Lindsey always was a ticklish bastard. Nah, Eliot decides. He really wants to stab something right now.

"So what?" Lindsey says mildly, "You're gonna stay down there until Judgment Day? Huh? You gotta eat. You expectin' me ta bring you food?"

There's silence from the darkness under the bed. "They're laughin' at me," Eliot says, sounding small and so _young_.

Lindsey's heart breaks a little at the _smallness_ of his brother's voice. "No one's laughin', buddy." The endearment slips out unwittingly.

"Liar," Eliot says sullenly, "Lie alla time."

Lindsey rolls his eyes. "Maybe, but it's not funny, and no one's laughin'. Promise." Well, except it _was_ funny before, when he didn't know that he couldn't fix it. Now, witnessing his brother's pain, no, it's not funny, not a bit.

"Liar."

"Eliot, come on. Please?" Lindsey sighs. "Look, this sucks, I know. Okay? I know. And I'm sorry I let it happen. I shoulda been there. All that surveillance I'd been doin' on you and the team, I shoulda known what kinda job you were walkin' into, and I shoulda come. I'm sorry."

Eliot starts sliding out from under the bed slowly, slowly.

"This," Lindsey gestures angrily in Eliot's direction without looking at him, his voice full of self-hate, "This was my fault. I shoulda known. And I shoulda been able to fix it. I'm sorry."

Eliot creeps the rest of the way out and tugs on Lindsey's sleeve. "It wasn't your fault. I was the one who was careless. Wasn't your fault."

Lindsey looks up at him through long-ish bangs, and...smirks. "Gotcha!" he exclaims, and bundles Eliot into his arms.

"Hey!" Eliot cries, squirming in his brother's strong grip, "You tricked me! Liar! You big fat liar!"

He struggles and struggles – Bandit looks worriedly between Master and Smells-Like-Master, unsure of who to help because Smells-Like-Master would never _hurt_ Master – and with an almighty kick in Lindsey's gut, is able to get away until Lindsey tackles him from behind.

"Eliot," he grunts, "Eliot, hey, hey. Calm down, bud."

Angry tears slide down Eliot's cheeks in an unstoppable torrent and he flaps and flails his arms and legs mindlessly, trying to get away.

"Eliot, hey, shhhhh. It's okay, it's okay." Lindsey's hold on him is strong, but it doesn't hurt. He's not trying to hurt Eliot.

So he calms down enough that Lindsey looses his grip. Then, he scoots away and glares at him the best he can through streaming eyes and trembling lips. Bandit finally settles for lying down in the space between them.

Lindsey sits back, too, just looking at Eliot with an unreadable expression.

Eliot's nose is running, so he first gives it a tentative sniffle, then takes a good loud sniff.

Lindsey softens. "C'mere," he says gently, and draws Eliot into his lap.

Eliot shoves him and scrambles out of his grip. "I'm not a baby! I don't need cuddles, Linny!"

Lindsey shrugs. "Yeah, well, maybe I do, so sit still and cuddle, dammit!" With that, he reaches out again and tugs Eliot around his middle.

Eliot knows damn well that he's being manipulated into being babied, but for now, he just leans into his brother's chest and lets himself be comforted. But only because Linny needs it. He does. That's the only reason.

And if Lindsey's shirt gets wet around the shoulder, well, that's only because Linny sweats weird.

A warm hand rubs circles on his back and it feels...good. He hiccups and clenches Lindsey's shirt in his fist.

"You okay?" Lindsey murmurs into his hair.

Not trusting his voice, Eliot nods, then a moment later, changes his mind and shakes his head no.

Lindsey squeezes him harder. "Okay," he whispers, "Let it out, just let it out. It's okay."

Eliot hiccups again. "Don't tell?" he asks, voice wavering, "Don't tell the others, 'kay?"

Lindsey nods, "Okay. I won't tell. Wild horses, El. Promise."

"I'm scared," Eliot tells him, "I'm scared of losin' myself. I'm scared o' forgettin' who I am. But sometimes, I like being little and…and then I hate it. I hate this. I hate being confused alla time."

"I know, I know. But you're still you," Lindsey says, repeating Eliot's words from before. He runs his fingers through the tangled curls. "Smaller, and more annoying," he teases, "but still you. I've known you all our lives, so take it from me, you're still you. Whatever happens, you're still you."

Eliot shrugs, face still glued to Lindsey's shoulder.

"Hey," Lindsey says, nudging him away so that he can look at the boy's face. "Hey, I won't let you forget who you are, okay?" He wipes away the tears with his thumb. "Alright? Promise. I'll take care of you. Always. Doesn't matter what size you are. I'll always have your back."

There's a rustling outside the door - Parker and Hardison. Or rather, the sounds are all Hardison, and the _feeling_ - that's Parker.

"Don't even think about openin' that door," Lindsey hollers, anxious about the rest of the team seeing Eliot in this state.

There's some whispering behind the door, then some more rustling.

"You didn't hafta yell at them," Eliot says, scrubbing his face with a sleeve.

Lindsey blinks down at him. "I didn't? Hey, ew, don't use your sleeve, man. That's gross."

Eliot glares at him. "Then what am I supposed ta use?" he asks, making clear the lack of tissues in the room.

Lindsey levels his best bitch-face at him, and stands up, purposely dumping the kid out of his lap as he does so. "Fine," he says, "Stay put. I'll be right back."

Eliot mutters an ear-burning invective at him as he firmly closes the door and looks left and right to check that the thief and hacker aren't still hanging around.

He slips to the bathroom and emerges with a roll of toilet paper. Going back into Eliot's room, he tears a couple of pieces off and holds the tissue to Eliot's nose. "Blow," he instructs.

Eliot's glare is scathing. He snatches the paper out of Lindsey's fingers and growls, "I can blow my own damn nose!"

"Alright, alright," Lindsey says, backing up pacifically, "It's not like I wanted your snot all over my hand anyway."

He gets a used tissue thrown in his face for that. Sighing dramatically, he offers the toilet paper to his brother. "Need more?"

Eliot sniffles and takes the roll. "Don't tell."

Lindsey smiles. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Eliot narrows his eyes. "You promised."

"I did."

"Linny."

"What?"

"_Linny."_

"I said I wouldn't tell," Lindsey says, "Don't you believe me?" He pastes on his most earnest expression.

"No."

Lindsey chuckles and stands up. "I'd better get out there before they start thinking that I've finally committed fratricide."

Eliot shrugs.

"You gonna be okay?"

Nod.

Lindsey looks down at the forlorn figure stubbornly trying to look grown-up. "Holler if ya need me," he says, looks to Bandit – _"Take care of him"_ – and leaves.

Closing the door, he sighs and rubs a hand over his face. _Crap. _He hates this, he really does. Yet again, he finds himself considering _that_ solution, but reminds himself that it's only a last resort. _The_ last resort.

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References:

"You're still you" - Eliot says "I'm still me" to Lindsey in "The Sky's Gonna Open."

The "solution" is a reference to the end of SGO, when Lindsey turns up with a spell that would turn Eliot back into an adult, but at the price of a blood sacrifice...Don't worry! I'm not gonna do that here, okay?


	3. The Plan

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**The Plan**

They're all sitting and waiting for him when he goes out to the living room.

"How is he?" Sophie asks.

Lindsey shrugs. "He's fine. He's okay."

She raises a perfectly plucked brow and points out the tearstain on his shoulder with a look.

Lindsey follows her gaze and scowls. "What? Maybe I sweat weird."

"You don't have to protect him from us, you know," Sophie says gently.

Lindsey sighs and sits down. "I know. Call it a force of habit. I promised I wouldn't tattle."

"You didn't say anything," says Parker. Lindsey can't tell if she means that literally, or if she understands what's really going on.

"So," he says, "I have an idea. I've been thinking about it for a while and I think it's about time. You might not like it, but just hear me out," he goes on before they can answer. "I wanna enroll him in school. He'll still be on the team. Jobs on the side, after school hours and on the weekends, but nothing that disrupts his sleep schedule or his studies. I think that if he's with kids his own age – his age now, I mean – he won't feel so confused all the time. He won't feel the pressure to be his old self again. And that'll be healthier for him."

Nate and Sophie look at each other.

"We were actually going to suggest that, but we weren't sure how you would react," Nate says.

Lindsey blinks. "Oh. Great. Then it's settled. All we have to do it to break it to Eliot," he says, at which Parker starts to laugh.

"Yeah, good luck with that, guys," she says, still snorting, "I'm going to go make some popcorn."

Lindsey sighs. "He's not gonna take it well, is he?"

Nate shakes his head. "Nope."

"How do we convince him?" Lindsey asks.

Sophie sips her tea. "That's your job. You're the manipulative lawyer."

Lindsey crosses his arms, slightly defensive. "Well, you're the manipulative grifter."

They stare at each other, at an impasse.

"How about Hardison?" Lindsey says with a sly smirk.

Sophie returns it with an equally serpentine look. "Yes, Hardison can do it."

"Whoa, hold on, now," the hacker says, putting his hands up, "What? Me? How did I get pulled into this? No, no, man. No. I ain't doin' it." He shakes his head. "Nope."

"He'd cave anyway. Parker?" asks Sophie thoughtfully.

"No," disagrees Lindsey, "She'll end up playing devil's advocate."

"True."

"I didn't go to school," says Parker from the kitchen, over the sound of buttery-smelling popping. Parker likes popcorn. It's the only kind of cooking that's _supposed_ to explode.

"Exactly our point."

"Nate?" suggests Sophie.

Lindsey nods, liking the idea. "Yeah. Nate."

Nate shakes his head and shifts in his seat. "Oh, no."

Sophie puts her hand on his thigh. "Nate."

He slips his leg out from under her hand, making her huff and pout seductively.

"Nate," Lindsey says, sidling over, oozing slick, sleazy grease, "you that matter of, uh, y'know? The thing? That you didn't want a certain person to know about? Y'know, I am really bad at keeping secrets. Simply awful. But you know what would help me keep that secret?"

Nate laughs awkwardly. "Still no. You wouldn't."

"Oh, I don't know," Lindsey frowns and rubs his temple, "I've been gettin' a lotta hits to the head recently. It's messing with my concentration and memory. So I might, ya know, _forget_ that it was supposed to be a secret."

Nate glares. "Fine."

"Great," exclaims Lindsey with a bright grin, "Good luck! See ya later!" He walks out towards the door, jacket in hand.

Nate flounders. "Where...?"

"What's the secret, Nate?" Sophie asks, sitting closer, if that's even possible, "Hmm? What is your secret?"

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AN: Oh, you want to know what that secret is. That's why you're reading this. Well, what are you looking at me for? I don't know. You tell me. You always have better ideas than I do. Tell me a good one and I might write it in. (Actually, I have an idea…)

Real life complaining session that you can definitely ignore: I hate papers! I hate them, hate 'em, I tell you! Haaaaattteeee!...Okay, now that I've gotten that out of my system, I'm going to stop procrastinating now. *snort* *hysterical laughter*


	4. Back to School

AN: I know, I know, it's been a while…sorta. Finals week, then break. I'm back now.

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**Back to School**

Nate sighs before entering the "Batcave," also known as Eliot's room.

When he scratches up the courage to open the door, he sees that the seven-year-old has spread out his knife set on the carpet and is sharpening the blades with a menacing glower.

Joy.

Bandit watches him warily as he walks in. Bandit and Nate (Hair-Like-Poodle-Man) are only Best Friends when Nate has something good to eat or when he has the Chew-Toy-of-Squeaky-Wonderfulness. Otherwise, Bandit has already been scolded too many times for Bad Potty and No Chew Shoes to love-love-love him. But of course, if Hair-Like-Poodle-Man is ever in trouble, Bandit will hurt whoever is hurting him. Because he is Loyal and Good…except for Bad Potty and No Chew Shoes times.

Nate clears his throat.

"What."

Okay, so we're going with surly this afternoon, are we? Again?

"So," Nate says, and sits down across from Eliot, very aware that he is putting himself dangerously close to sharp objects that may soon become sharp projectiles if he's not careful about choosing his words.

"Spit it out."

"Right." Nate clears his throat again. "So. We were talking- "

"Talking about me?"

The glare is terrifying, even coming from a tiny little boy.

"Well, yes," Nate hedges, "but it wasn't anything bad. We were concerned about your...future."

Blue eyes narrow.

"Your brother and Sophie- " Ha! Try to wiggle out of this one - "want to...putyoubackinschool."

He tries very hard not to shift under the hard, icy gaze, but it's difficult.

"I already have a high school diploma," Eliot says, going back to his knife-sharpening. "I don't need another one."

"Yes, well." Nate sits and watches the small hands manipulate the whetstone more dexterously than they had a mere month ago. While Eliot may be forgetting, his learning curve is also increasing. "What's the scientific method?"

Eliot stares at him in disbelief. "How many people my age who aren't scientists actually even know that?"

"Is that a trick question?" His age, meaning thirty-eight, or seven?

Eliot growls and contemplates throwing the knife in his hand. Then, glaring at Nate the entire time, he recites, "Question, Research, Hypothesis, Procedure, Data, Observations, and Conclusion. There. See? I remember."

Thanks to Linny saying them over and over (and over and over) again during high school. But don't tell him that. And then there had been Lucy, the bio major, who had gone through the motions of the "scientific method" with him in an "experiment." Twice. But that was before he'd gotten midgetized.

Nate raises his eyebrow, impressed. Even as a child, Eliot doesn't fail to surprise him. "Okay, point taken. But you can't deny that you are forgetting things."

"Oh, I can deny it. This is me denying it," scowls Eliot.

Nate looks at him.

"I don't wanna!" It comes out as a whine, but seriously. Come on. School, especially since they're going to want to put him in _elementary_ school. No. He may be trapped in this little seven-year-old body, but he doesn't need to go back just because he forgot a few things (like how to spell his twin brother's name...).

Nate keeps looking, and jeesh, it's really only Nate and Lindsey who can do this to him. And Parker. And Sophie and maybe Hardison on a good day.

"Don't wanna." This one is more subdued, not quite giving in, but knowing that he's not going to win either. "No."

Nate leans over. "Eliot, you know," he says, "Lindsey worries about you. A lot. And it might make him feel better about everything if you let him think that he's doing what's best for you."

Eliot glares at him and pouts. _(Does not.)_ "You're manipulative. That ain't fair."

"Well," Nate says smugly, "I am the manipulative mastermind after all."

"Not _fair."_

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As punishment for delegating the task of telling Eliot to Nate, Lindsey and Sophie are designated the official back-to-school shoppers.

Well, it isn't so much a punishment as a...no, it's a punishment.

"No. Nope. No. No. Hate it. Too bright. Too dark. Too green. No, no, no."

Eliot, having been coerced into going back to school (_elementary_ school, no less), is being as bratty as a kid who grew up with Lindsey McDonald can be - extremely.

"No, don't like it, no."

Lindsey growls under his breath, and Sophie rubs her temples. Parker grins wide and looks on, fascinated, like an anthropologist studying a new ritual.

She had been curious about this "back-to-school shopping" thing, as she had never done it before herself. So far, she has observed the gradual unraveling of the sanity of the other two adults by way of persistent "No, no, nopes" from Eliot in response to every single question over the course of the past three hours.

Finally, Lindsey grabs a backpack at random and plunks it into the cart.

"This is your backpack," he snarls. "You will use it, and you will like it. Understand?"

A woman standing nearby with her daughter shoots Lindsey a dirty look and hustles the little girl away from the Terrible Parent.

Eliot glares at his brother. "It's pink," he points out, his little arms crossed in defiance. "I ain't gonna use no pink backpack."

Lindsey narrows his eyes at Eliot. "Fine," he says, and picks out another backpack. It's grey and black. There's no question of "How about this one? Maybe this one? Do you like this one?" about it. This is Eliot's backpack, and that's final.

Eliot heaves a dramatic sigh. "But I wanted Batman," he whines.

Lindsey suppresses a groan. "You can get a Batman pencil box," he says tersely.

Eliot looks at Lindsey's tight-lipped countenance and Sophie's weary, headachy face and gives in with a twinge of guilt. "Okay. Can I get Batman pencils, too?"

Lindsey pushes the shopping cart through the throngs of angry back-to-school shoppers. "Sure. Batman lunchbox?"

"Yeah."

"This is fun," chirps Parker. "Can we do this again tomorrow?"

"No!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Meanwhile, Nate is having Hardison fake Eliot's new school records.

Student name. That's easy. Eliot...Eliot Spencer? Eliot McDonald? Eliot Ford? Eliot Something-completely-different?

"Umm..."

"Yes, Hardison?"

"What name are we using for Eliot?" Hardison asks. "What I mean is, who's his dad? Well, I know who his dad is, but what I meant was, who am I putting in the little box on the form in the place where his- "

"I get it, Hardison," Nate cuts in before the hacker can go apoplectic from trying to avoid a touchy subject. "Put..."

Hell, he doesn't know. Would Lindsey feel some sort of animosity against him if he had Hardison list Nate as Eliot's father without so much as consulting him? Does he even want Eliot to be his son? Would it feel like he's replacing-

"Put one of Lindsey's aliases. List me as an emergency contact, maternal uncle."

He can feel Hardison's eyes boring into him. Thankfully, the hacker turns back to his keyboard with just an "Okay."

Nate pours himself a glass of something strong and knocks it back in one go. Oh, boy. This is going to be difficult, very difficult.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


	5. First Day of School, Again

AN: Okay, _finally_, Eliot is off to school. Finally. My bad for making you wait this long. :D

* * *

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

**First Day of School...Again**

The big black van pulls up to the curb. It remains there, unmoving, for about thirty seconds before the car behind it honks impatiently. A few seconds later, the side door slides open and a small boy emerges, a scowl set firmly on his cherubic little face.

He turns back and shouts at whoever is inside the van, "Don't even think about comin' with me. Friggin' embarrassing."

There's a pause as the person inside answers.

"I've got the damn button cam! I'll go to class."

Another pause.

"Yes, I promise I won't ditch. Waddaya want? Ya wanna pinky swear? Jesus!"

The kid with the bad attitude rolls his eyes at whatever the person says next, and turns away from the door. "Whatever. Bye," he tosses over his shoulder.

Then he stands on the street and glares defiantly at the school for a moment before marching his way up the stairs to the entryway of the Shining Halls of Primary Education, like a condemned man going to his death.

Once the boy makes it inside, the black van's door slides closed and the vehicle takes off into the city streets.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"How are visuals?" Nate asks.

"Up and running. He's walking through the hallway," Hardison reports. "Man, everything is so tiny." Then he laughs. "And Eliot's tiny, too, so it's like we shrunk with him! Look!" he says, and shows Parker.

She snorts and tosses a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "I could totally steal that kid's lunch," she laughs, pointing at the screen.

Lindsey frowns at her. "You don't steal other kids' lunches. That's not right."

Sophie scoffs from the front seat of the van. "Lindsey McDonald, attorney at law, advocator of the bullied?"

Lindsey glares. "Whatever. There's just somethin' wrong with stealing other people's lunches, 's all."

"_It's 'cause kids used to steal his lunch alla time,"_ Eliot says over the coms. _"Least, until I took care of 'em for him. And don't even mention the wedgies and the swirlies."_

"Shut up," Lindsey growls. "I could take care of my own damn self," he says, even though that's a lie. He had been pretty much dependent on his brother growing up. Actually, they had been co-dependent. Eliot got Lindsey out of trouble with his fists, and Lindsey helped Eliot stay on teachers' good sides (and out of detention) with his _charming_ and _sincere _personality, and pretty much playing on their heartstrings. Once they'd grown up, things hadn't changed.

"_Not."_

"Too."

"Children," Nate says in his most condescending tone.

Chastised, the twins settle for growling and teeth-grinding (and mental shoves at each other).

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"_I already know how to add two-digit numbers. I can add _three_-digits, too. I already know how to multiply. Hell, I already know friggin' algebra! And seven different ways to kill someone with a crayon!"_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Frog and Toad?_ You gotta be _kidding_ me."_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"_Okay, recess ain't so bad."_

"_Waddaya mean, I can't throw the ball at his head? Where the hell else am I s'pposed to aim for maximum impact?"_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"_There's something wrong with that _Amelia Bedelia_ chick."_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"_I am so damn _bored."

"_Yes, that's a bad word. Ya mean you ain't never heard your parents say that? Huh? How about 'dick'? Or 'shit'? Or 'crap,' or 'fu- '"_

"_Yes, ma'am. No, ma'am. Of course not, ma'am. Yes, ma'am. Right away, ma'am."_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Principal's office? Yes. He _what?_ Oh, no. I'll be right in. Thank you, Principal. I apologize for my son's behavior, sir."

Lindsey hangs up and bangs the phone against his head in miserable frustration.

_Clunk. Clunk. Clunk._

"Hey, knock that out. That's expensive technology there," Hardison complains. "You can't get it on the market, I'll have you know."

"I'm gonna kill him," Lindsey moans, completely ignoring the hacker's protests, "I'm gonna kill him."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"New rule," Lindsey growls as he starts the car, "No cussing at school. Nothing even resembling profanity. No threats, no fisticuffs, no social deviances whatsoever."

Eliot groans. "It ain't like I even said the whole word," he pouts, crossing his arms. "And it ain't like they all ain't heard it before, neither. I can't believe you told the principal my mama was a crack addict who died from an overdose."

"You're doing it on purpose, aren't you?" Lindsey says, grinding his teeth at the double negatives and multiple usages of "ain't." "I told him that because I had to think of a way to explain your _awful_ behavior."

"Doin' what?"

"For chrissakes, El, act like a seven-year-old when you're with other seven-year-olds!"

"I ain't seven!"

"It's a con, Eliot," Lindsey says, hissing air in through his teeth in an attempt to calm himself (at least while he's driving), "Just pretend it's a con."

"That's easy for you to say," Eliot grumbles, "Your legs ain't like, two feet long."

"It's for your own good," Lindsey says for probably the first time in his life. He understands now. He really, truly understands how his mother must have felt with _two_ little _brats_ running around. Neither of them had taken after Daddy – he'd been as mellow as anything, but Mama? Lindsey's earliest memories of their mother were of her scolding them for something or other. She'd been a saint, sure, but that doesn't mean that she didn't yell at them every day of their lives. And now, Lindsey's pretty damn sure they deserved it.

"You ain't my daddy," Eliot returns, just as predicted.

"Suck it up, bud," Lindsey scowls, not liking this situation much, either, "I am on paper."

"This sucks."

"Yeah."

"I still can't believe you told him Mama was a crack addict."

"I didn't say Mama was a crack addict. I said _your_ mama was a crack addict. There's a difference."

"She wasn't."

"I _know._ Just...shut up, okay?"

"But she wasn't."

"_Aaaarrrrrgggghhhhh!"_ Lindsey slams his hand on the horn, _hard_, blaring at some poor guy who has done absolutely nothing wrong. Well, he probably has; everyone has done something wrong sometime in their life.

"Feel better?"

"No."

"Good. Me neither. I think you busted my eardrums. Children have sensitive hearing, you know."

"I _hate_ you."

"Hate you too."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Alright."

"Hate you more."

"Do not. It is impossible for you to hate me more than I hate you."

"Hate you a gazillion times more than you hate me."

"Like I said, impossible."

"Not."

"Too."

"Not."

"Shut up, Eliot."

"Make me."

"Make you? Oh, yeah, I'll make you shut up alright..."

"I'll scream and get you arrested for child abuse."

"I hate you."

"Right back atcha."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

AN: _Frog and Toad_ and _Amelia Bedelia_ are both children's book series listed under "2nd grade." I'm pretty sure I was younger than that when I read them, though…

Side note: Children do know more bad words than you think. Example: Boy: *conversationally* "Teacher, I used to say this word 'shit' but now I say 'ship'." Me: "Ohhh. How do you know that word?" Boy: "I know it from a looooong time ago. My sister said it." Me: *teacher mode* *looks at his two older sisters* "Really?" Sisters: "Wasn't me!" Boy: *giggle-fest* Me: "How do you read this word?" Boy: "Shit." *grin* Me: *facepalm*


	6. Knocked the Wind Right Out of My Sail

Chapter title from "School of Hard Knocks."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

**Knocked the Wind Right Out of My Sail**

Nate has a "conference" with Eliot later that week. The mastermind pours himself a stiff one after that conversation. Eliot emerges looking...chagrined.

The following morning, Eliot packs up his Batman lunchbox in his tiny backpack and obediently gets in the van with a glum expression.

The others exchange glances.

"_Did Nate hypnotize him?"_ Parker whispers.

"_Maybe,"_ Hardison shrugs, remembering (or actually, _not_ remembering) his own encounter with Nate's special prison talent.

Lindsey counts his blessings and gets them all to the school as fast as he can.

"Got your homework?"

"Yeah."

"Got your lunch?"

"Yeah."

"Got your pencils?"

"Yeah."

"Got your snack?"

"Yeah."

"Got your brain?"

Lindsey gets a withering glare for that one.

"Look, I know this sucks," Lindsey says quietly, "But I really think it wouldn't be that bad if you just, you know, let go and have fun. You're allowed to have fun."

"Fun is not Curious George. Curious George is friggin' creepy. You liked school, but I hated it. Remember?" Eliot hisses and gets out of the van.

"You tried," Sophie murmurs to Lindsey as they watch the de-aged hitter stalk off.

"This is the right thing, isn't it? I'm not screwing him up for life or anything?" Lindsey says worriedly.

"He'll be fine," she says, not really answering his question because she has the same kind of misgivings about this, mostly because of how miserable Eliot seems.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"How was school?" Sophie chirps brightly when they pick Eliot up from school. (They always try their best to _all_ come along to pick him up.)

Eliot shrugs.

"Right. So it was good then?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I wanna join football, Linny," Eliot says over dinner one day.

"Huh?" The first sign that Eliot actually wants to be in school, no matter that it has nothing to do with academics? Eliot wanting to participate in a group activity? "Yeah, okay. I'll sign you up," Lindsey agrees eagerly before his brother can change his mind.

The kid shrugs and stabs indifferently at his chicken. "It's too late to sign up. They already started playin'."

"Would football make you happy?" asks Lindsey hopefully.

Eliot purses his lips.

"Happier?" Lindsey amends.

"Prob'ly not," Eliot replies listlessly.

"O-okay. I'll get you on the team. How hard could it be to get onto a kids' football team?"

Apparently, very hard. But he does it. Because he wants Eliot to be happy, dammit!

(He'll have nightmares about it, though, which is saying something because hello, worked for evil here.)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It has been several weeks since Eliot started school when Lindsey corners Nate in the kitchen to have A Talk.

"Do you want to say it, or should I?" he starts, right out of the blue.

Nate's eyebrows lift, although he knows exactly what the former lawyer means.

"He's not happy," Lindsey starts. "I mean, he wasn't happy before when he'd just gotten de-aged, but he wasn't completely miserable and- and _depressed_ like he is now. This is...Maybe we were wrong about putting him in school. I mean, even when we let him work with us after school and on the weekends and stuff, it's like he's not even...I mean, it's like we're _letting_ him work with us."

"Like we're making him feel useless?" Nate asks, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Exactly!"

"You knew this would happen," Nate points out, "We knew it would happen."

"Yeah," Lindsey sighs, "but I didn't think he'd be you know, like _this_. He is still on the team. I haven't replaced him. But lately, he's been giving me the cold shoulder, like he thinks I have."

"Haven't you?" Nate says, just to see what happens. "You have his job."

"But he's the one who _made_ me stay!" Lindsey exclaims. "That's on him. He shoulda known what making me take his job would do."

Nate takes another sip of his coffee. "Maybe this is a conversation you should be having with him," he suggests and walks out of the kitchen.

Lindsey huffs. He hates it when people are reasonable.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

AN: What did Lindsey have to do to get Eliot on the kids' football team? Something unthinkable, literally, because even I don't know…But it was baaaad…

Anon review reply to Kaitibell: Have I ever considered Person of Interest/Leverage fic? No, but if I ever do see that show, then yes, probably, like I do with just about everything I watch. This is not a "Yeah, sure, I'll write it," but more of a "If I ever do watch it, then I probably will write it."


	7. How to Succeed in Elementary School

Title: A take on the musical "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying"

* * *

**How to Succeed in Elementary School Without Really Trying**

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Lindsey puts a big bowl of ice cream (three flavors) in front of Eliot, who looks up in surprise, then regards the bowl with distrust.

"What's this?"

"Ice cream," says Lindsey and seats himself across from his brother.

"Why?" Eliot asks suspiciously.

"Why is ice cream?" Lindsey asks, and leans back in his chair. "That's kind of a philosophical question, isn't it? Why is ice cream?"

Eliot growls. "Linny."

"Why _is _ice cream?"

"Linny! What do you want?" The ice cream melts a little from the sheer power of the frustrated seven-year-old's glare.

Lindsey sighs and folds his hands on the table, partly out of habit. "Eliot, I want to talk."

"About?"

"You."

There's a slight battle of wills in the form of a short staring contest before Eliot huffs and crosses his arms, ignoring the melting bowl of ice cream in front of him. "What about me?"

Lindsey lowers his eyes and prepares to admit that he was wrong. As much as he hates it, he was, and his brother is the one suffering the consequences of his decision.

"I was wrong," he says, and feels the stubborn, contrary brother part of his brain kick him for admitting that. "And I'm sorry."

Eliot doesn't let him off the hook easily. "About?"

Lindsey presses his lips together briefly before proceeding. "School. I was wrong to make you go against your will. It obviously isn't benefiting you in the least. I'm sorry for making things worse."

Eliot stares at him for a long time, arms crossed and his expression serious and verging on severe.

The ice cream melts.

Lindsey blinks.

Eliot smirks.

"Took ya long enough," he says, sitting forward and picking the spoon up to eat his ice cream. "Was it so hard, admitting that? That was kinda fun," he comments through a still-freezing mouthful.

Lindsey blinks again. He tilts his head and frowns. His lips form soundless words. "Did you just play me?" he asks, "Did you con me?"

"You said, pretend it's a con. So I did." Eliot grins at him with his ice cream-covered mouth.

"That's not what I meant," Lindsey scowls, "You- I- " He huffs. "I can't even look at you right now. Do you even know what I had to do to get you on the football team?"

Eliot shrugs and continues eating his runny ice cream.

Lindsey throws a napkin at him. "Wipe your mouth."

"I'm not done yet. I'll do it later when I'm done."

Lindsey growls. "I can't believe you conned me. I- Wait," he says, planting his hands flat on the table and narrowing his eyes, "So you don't hate school? You're not perfectly miserable? That was all a lie? Did you _lie_ to me?"

Eliot picks up the napkin and smears the ice cream around his face. "No. I still hate school. But you know me. I adapt."

"You adapted?" Lindsey rubs his forehead tiredly. "Of course you did. You're Eliot." Eliot can adapt to torture in North Korean prisons; he can adapt to anything. Lindsey sighs. "Are you staying out of trouble, at least? The principal hasn't called me in, but that doesn't actually mean anything, does it?" he asks probingly, since yeah, he _grew up_ with Eliot the first time around. The parents not being called in doesn't mean _anything._

Eliot shrugs. "I'm doing fine. Actually workin' on somethin' right now," he says, leaning forward on his elbows, as if imparting an important secret.

Oh boy.

"See, there's this group of bullies, right?" Eliot starts.

No. No, no, no. Eliot plus bullies equals trouble.

Eliot must have read the dreading expression on Lindsey's face because he laughs. "Don't worry. I'm bein' careful. Gettin' the rest of the second-graders in on it, too."

Oh, _no_.

"It's fool-proof!" Eliot insists.

Lindsey shakes his head. "No. No. Abort mission. Right now."

"Nate helped me plan it," Eliot says, "It's fine!"

"Nate?" Lindsey's eyes narrow again. "Oh, so Nate knows, does he?"

Eliot snorts. "Yeah, he knows. So do Parker and Hardison. You 'n Sophie ain't the only liars on the team, ya know. We're all good at hiding stuff. Well. Now we are, at least."

"Parker and Hardison and- " Lindsey breaks off. "Great. So everyone knew? An' y'all were laughin' at us behind our backs?" he asks in an injured tone. What happened to team solidarity?

"They weren't laughin'," Eliot says at his huffy brother, rolling his eyes, "Parker an' Hardison don't really care if I go to school or not, and I made a deal with Nate."

Lindsey's ears perk up. "What? A deal? What kind of deal?"

"He helps me with the plan to get rid of the bullies and I go to school without makin' trouble," Eliot shrugs.

Obviously, 'getting rid of bullies' doesn't qualify as 'getting in trouble' to Nate. Which…okay, Lindsey can live with the murky grayness of that.

"Why didn't you tell me? Here I was, thinking how perfectly miserable you looked, all this time!"

"I wanted to let you an' Sophie stew in your own juices for a while," the second-grader replies, and deposits his now-empty ice cream bowl in the sink for Lindsey to wash.

"I'm gonna kill you."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sophie doesn't talk to Eliot for eight whole days. Actually, she stops talking to the entire team, Lindsey included. He feels a little miffed about that – he understands her not wanting to talk to her significant other because he was in on this whole thing, but Lindsey? Really? He'd been tricked and conned and lied to, too!

But whatever. It's not like he's the kind of guy to hold a grudge or anything. Not at all.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Seriously. He isn't!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

AN: Eliot is a conman...kid? Conkid? Conboy? :P Anyway, he is a manipulative little boy. Shame on you for falling for poor ittle depressed Eliot. *kidding*


	8. Cowboy Casanovas

Chapter title adapted from Carrie Underwood's song…It's the best I can think of. It used to be "Party Like It's 1999," but I didn't like that much either. **StrawberryMnM**: You read my mind on that review last chapter!

* * *

**Cowboy Casanovas**

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

It's not a bad plan. It's really not. It actually works. It's just that…

Well, _after_ the con is a problem.

"No, no second-grade ditch day to celebrate. No."

"But…"

"_No."_

"What about a class party? Can we have a class party? Please-please-please,_ puh-__**leeeze?"**_

Lindsey sighs. Eliot had worked his little butt off for this (and made the rest of the team work their butts off along with him, if only because it means so much to him to be able to help people again that they felt compelled to).

"Fine."

He gets a quick waist tackle-grab-squeeze for that and feels a twinge of guilt because he really doesn't deserve it, even though he had been tricked and lied to by the little bastard. "What should I tell the teacher you're celebrating?"

Eliot blinks at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Lindsey shrugs. "You kind of have to have a reason to have a party, you know. And telling Ms. Leggett the truth about why you're having this party might send up some signals about how she should probably call her students' parents in…"

"Oh. Right." Eliot thinks. "Umm, birthday? It could be for my birthday."

"She already knows that's in July. It's on her birthday chart." Lindsey watches Eliot's face fall a little and feels another prick of guilt. "But you know what?" He smiles, thinking of a plan, a very good plan, "I'll talk to her."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Class," the teacher says in her wispy-light voice with a flutter of slender white hands, "I am so proud of you for being such wonderful students! Now can we all say a very big thank you to Eliot's dad for entering us in the Best Second Grade Class in the State contest?" Ms. Leggett pauses and looks at her class expectantly.

"Thank you, Eliot's dad," they chorus obediently, jittery with anticipation, eager eyes looking towards the back of the room with its tables laden with goodies.

"You're very welcome," Lindsey smiles, and throws a half-wink at Eliot, who, for a change, is beaming at him for being such a good liar, "But don't forget, you wouldn't have won the Best Class contest if you weren't all such great kids. And of course," he turns and bestows a sexy, ravishing smile on Ms. Leggett, "if you didn't have such a wonderful teacher…Well, let's just say that this school would have suffered a very great loss."

Poor Brenda Leggett blushes to the roots of her plain mouse-brown hair.

Eliot tilts his head, assessing. Okay, so maybe Linny isn't all that bad at this flirting business as he'd originally thought. He hasn't _really_ seen him in action since like, high school, come to think of it. (Darla was different. Darla was like blind, ground-kissing, here's-my-neck-so-you-can-have-a-suck-if-you-need- a-snack worship. Bitch. In fact, any woman who messes with his brother's heart like that is a bitch.)

"Oh, well, I- class did it all- good job- " Ms. Leggett stammers, and Eliot decides to let her off the hook. The McDonald men are stunningly handsome, after all, and she's probably not used to being the object of the smoldering gaze of one of them. Even if it is only Linny. Ms. Leggett's nice, even if she's not especially pretty, but she's a damsel and she's in distress and Eliot just so happens to be in a position to be able to rescue her. Besides, he wants that extra gold star next to his name.

"Party time!" he shouts, leading the mass charge of children to the refreshments table.

When every kid has gotten his or her sugary snack and soda, Eliot weaves his way towards Lindsey and Ms. Leggett.

"Hey Daddy," he says with the cherubic, innocent look he has perfected over the last few months, "Can I axe you somethin'?"

"You want to _ask_ me something?" Lindsey corrects, with an apologetic look at the teacher, who merely blushes and simpers.

"Yeah," Eliot says, and pulls him away to a corner. "What are you doin?" he asks furiously in a whisper.

"Hey," Lindsey says, affronted, "I got you your party, didn't I?"

"You can't date my teacher!" Eliot hisses.

Lindsey draws back, amused, very definitely amused. "I can't? Why not?"

"Because. _Because_. She's my teacher!"

Lindsey rolls his eyes, "I remember a time when _you_ didn't mind dating _your_ teacher so much."

"But that's different." It is, it totally is. And yeah, Mrs. Tulia from high school had been _hot._ Totally worth the ridicule of being the only guy who signed up for Home Ec. Ridicule that had turned into admiration once the rest of the football team found out why exactly Eliot had signed up for a "girly" class.

"I thought you wanted me to date more." Eliot has always been insistent that certain body parts will atrophy if not used sufficiently. "And it's perfectly legal, you know," Lindsey adds, just because it's funny messing with Eliot, "No underage business like with you and Mrs. Tulia in high school."

_Mind reader._

"But she's my teacher! That's like…" Eliot trails off, eyes round in horror, "That's like thinking about Nate and Sophie doin' it!"

Which is…ew. He shudders.

"You don't think this is good payback for all the post-coital phone calls and TMI conversations you've put me through over the years?" Lindsey sniffs. "Relax. I'm not interested. I just wanted to get you your party. That's all. And possibly make some connections, just in case you do something stupid later on, like cuss like a sailor in front of the other kids. I'm networking!"

Eliot peers at him critically. "You sure? You _sure_ you don't want to date her?" Just to make sure. He really doesn't need a stepmother-sister-in-law who is also his teacher.

"Too young," Lindsey replies with a shrug. "I like 'em in the triple digits, or at least an octogenarian," he says with a wolfish grin and saunters off, a smirk twitching on his lips at the thought of the look on Eliot's face behind him.

"Ewwwww."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Hi Eliot," Jenna Leeman says, chewing on a cookie, and promptly punches him.

Ow. And it's not like he can do anything about it because she's a girl and he's supposed to behave and not get in trouble and…

"Do you have cooties?" he asks innocently.

Jenna scrunches up her nose. "Ew. _No."_

"I do," Eliot says, "'Cause I'm a boy. And you just touched me." He grins. "You have boy cooties now."

Jenna's scream is very satisfying.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"She likes you," Sophie says with a small (condescending) smile, dabbing at his bruise with a cold, wet cloth. Not that he _needs_ babying like that. He just doesn't want to make Sophie feel bad because he's done with that now.

"No, she doesn't!" he shouts. Indignant. Denying. Horrible realization dawning.

"I think she likes you," she says again.

"What do you know about it, Sophie?" Eliot pouts.

Sophie scoffs, "Excuse me?" She points at herself.

Eliot groans and slides down in his seat, "I wish she would just stop punching me!" he whines. "Or I dunno, grow up?" Growing up would be good because then he would like girls (all the time, as opposed to only some of the time) again and girls would like him and everything would be great.

"Why does she have to keep hitting me?" he says and crosses his arms.

"I told you; because she likes you."

"If I pull her hair and tie knots in it, do you think she'll get the message?" Eliot muses. "Or cut it. I could cut her hair…"

"_Eliot!"_

"Just the ends!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Linny," Eliot says hesitantly one night a few days later, curly hair still dark and dripping from his bath, "Are cooties real?" Lindsey would know because he knows just about everything about things that aren't supposed to be real but actually are.

Lindsey is about to laugh (hoot, cackle, roar, guffaw, chortle) his head off, but one look at Eliot's shy, scared face brings him back down to seriousness in a heartbeat. "Uh," he starts, "not that I know of. Why?" he manages with a solemn expression.

Eliot comes over and crawls onto the couch next to him. He pulls his Batman pajama top up and shows him his belly. "I think I have cooties," he intones seriously. "An' I think I got 'em from Jenna 'cause she's a girl."

Lindsey blinks. He blinks again. Then he leans down and takes a good look at the tiny pink blister-like marks on Eliot's skin. Thinking of something, he pulls his laptop back onto his knees – "Hey! Don't ignore me!" "I'm not. I'm looking something up for you. Quit hitting me." – and chuckles briefly at what he finds.

"Those aren't from cooties, El," he says, bemused.

"What is it?" Eliot's eyes grow impossibly big as a thought hits him. "Is it demonic? Is it fatal? Am I gonna die? I don't wanna die this young! It's tragic, that's what it is."

Lindsey snorts. "Relax. It's chicken pox."

"Chicken pox?" Eliot makes a face. "But I've already had it."

Lindsey really laughs this time. Hard. "I'm afraid you haven't, not in that body, at least. We had it at eight, remember?"

"This sucks," Eliot says, rubbing at his leg.

Lindsey grabs his wrist in a quick motion. "Uh-uh, no you don't. No scratching. Don't wanna end up with a chicken pox scar on your ass again, do ya?" Blue eyes twinkle at the miserable seven-year-old.

"This is not happening!"

Only it is.

The bastard is laughing at him. Stupid bastard. Stupid chicken pox. Stupid de-aging spell. Stupid witch. Stupid itchy rash. Stupid calamine lotion.

Scratch that last one.

Calamine lotion is _awesome_.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

AN: Yes. Eliot has the chicken pox. *evil*

The bully plan? Umm, it's better that you don't know. Plausible deniability, you know. I.e. it's better in your imagination, i.e. I'm bad at thinking of actual cons. Or it might be a separate fic later, if you give me enough ideas…"The Bully Job."

Ms. Leggett: Obscure _Fame L.A._ reference? Why ever would you think that? *rolls eyes*

Eliot's Home Ec teacher: Brief one-shot sort of about that – more like brotherly bickering about the topic – coming up…soon-ish.

Post-coital: inside joke!

Lindsey does like older (immortal) women…Darla, Eve (I assume she has always and forever been the fresh-faced young ingénue she was on the show). The stuff that Eliot thinks about Darla is from his POV – he's resentful of the way she treated his brother.

Jenna Leeman showed up briefly in "Tricks and Treats" as the girl who dressed up as Batgirl and has "a mean right hook." This incident described here is how Eliot knows this…one of the times, actually.

The chicken pox scar on Eliot's ass is mentioned in "Battle Fatigue." Kudos to you if you got it. :D

Is there more stuff that you want to see? I'm still in the process of writing this story, and I'm not sure how to end it. I mean, I could end it with Eliot getting better from the chicken pox, but that's just a little anticlimactic, or at least, it is so far. What I have atm isn't a good ending, but only an almost-ending. I may not use all of your ideas, but can you guys please shoot me some ideas to get my bunny going? I'd really appreciate it! Thanks!


	9. It's Gonna Leave a Beauty of a Scar

AN: I wasn't going to post today, because I'm feeling blergh (a couple of you know why, but obviously, I'm not going to air that big ol' mess in public) but I decided that feeling blergh is a marvelous reason for posting because of all the ego-boosting, feel-good reviews I'm bound to get…right? Please? I need something positive right now.

On a more upbeat note, did y'all notice that I updated my profile to include links? It's all purdy now, and it's much easier to get to all my series now, isn't it?

Title: From "School of Hard Knocks."

* * *

**It's Gonna Leave a Beauty of a Scar**

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Lindsey makes a lot of phone calls that day, including one to the doctor's office to make an appointment, one to the school to let them know that Eliot won't be in, and one to each of the Leverage team members. He also gets a surprise call from Eliot's teacher, Ms. Leggett.

. . . . .

"Yes, he's seven years old…Actually, I don't know if any of his friends have had it. I could ask around…This morning at ten-fifteen?…Sure, we'll be there. Thanks for seeing us…Bye."

. . . . .

"Hi, this is Ben Sinclair. My son Eliot is in Ms. Leggett's class. He won't be able to make it in today. He's sick…Yes, second grade…Uh, I'll pick his homework up after school…At the front office?...Thank you, and have yourself a nice day."

. . . . .

"Yeah, looks like chicken pox…We just got back from the doctor's right now…Yes, Eliot has the _chicken pox_. I know, right? Who'da thought…Ya know, it's funny. He told me- he told me when we got Bandit that we should keep him because Bandit's like us, you know, white with black spots – He was right because now _he's_ like Bandit! With the spots and the scratching…_Hey! Eliot! I saw that! How many times do I have to tell you not to scratch! You'll scar in places you don't want scars. Again. Chicken pox scars are neither pretty nor sexy. I already gave you a good rubdown with that lotion an' I don't need you smearing it all over the place, understand?…_Yeah, I'll call you back later. _Eliot! Get your slimy ass back here. I need to take your temperature every hour."_

. . . . .

"_Hi Ben, Mr. Sinclair. This is Brenda…I mean, Ms. Leggett, or, I guess you can call me Brenda, um, anyway, I'm calling from the school?"_

"Hi. Oh hey. Brenda. Eliot's teacher. I asked a friend to pick up Eliot's homework for me. Front office, right?"

"_Oh yes. Yes. I took everything up to the office, so it should be there when they get there. It's only a few worksheets and things. Pretty self-explanatory. Um. I was actually…well, I was actually…um, worried? Yes, worried about Eliot. Because I don't know if you got a call from the school already, but it seems like there's something going around."_

"What do you mean? Chicken pox? That's what Eliot's got."

"_Chicken pox _and_ the flu, actually. My entire class is out with one or the other, and so is Mr. Frut's – he's the other second grade teacher – and half of Ms. Herman's – she teaches third grade."_

"Oh. Well, thanks for calling, Brenda. I'll be sure to keep Eliot home until he's all clear and- _What do you mean he threw up? That's not one of the symptoms he's supposed to be having. And what are you even doing here, Parker? I called Sophie…_Uh, excuse me, Brenda. When Eliot gets sick, he gets sick in a big way. You know how it is. Kids. Thanks for calling."

"_Um. Bye…"_

Click.

"…_Ben. I hope Eliot feels better…Hello? And he hung up on me. At least he's a good dad…I wonder if Sophie's his girlfriend. I bet she's pretty…God, I am so pathetic. Stop making goo-goo-eyes at your students' fathers, Brenda. Even if they're completely dreamy. He's not interested. Reality check, Brenda, reality check…"_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Eliot squirms sluggishly in his bed amid his Batman pillows under his Batman comforter, squeezing his teddy bear, Sprout, in his arms, as if it might help alleviate some of his discomfort. Bandit lies on the bed next to him, Sad Ears and Sad Eyes in full bloom because when Master doesn't feel good, neither does Bandit. Bandit is a Dog of Sympathy.

"Hold still," Lindsey says softly – not the frustrated growled orders Eliot has been getting all day from his brother – and smooths his unruly curls back from his sticky, itchy forehead.

The thermometer beeps and Eliot opens his mouth to let Lindsey take it out to read. He watches his brother's face lethargically as his expression turns dour, apparently dissatisfied with the reading. He remembers now how before, Lindsey would often turn up out of the blue whenever one of Eliot's oft-sustained injuries had gotten badly infected, leaving him vulnerable to attacks. He'd never asked Lindsey how he'd known, but just grumbled and accepted the help as far as his pride would let him. And when Eliot was well enough to cook himself meals, Lindsey took that as a silent signal to take his leave. They've never talked about it, but Eliot knows that Lindsey came as much to protect him while he was out for the count as to take care of his injuries.

As he blinks sleepily at his brother's profile, he finds that image inexplicably superimposed by one of their father staying up late with them night after night that last time they got sick before he'd succumbed to the flu too…and the baby died and then little Abby…It had all gone downhill from there…

Lindsey reaches out to Eliot as he frowns and moans a little, furrows of pain etched onto his face. "El? You okay?" The hot round cheek turns into his palm, seeking comfort. "You gonna throw up again?"

"No." Eliot's voice is raspy from coughing, and he sniffs, curling up onto his side in an attempt to sneak some friction against his itchy blisters. "'M 'kay." Long, dark lashes flutter against feverish, flushed cheeks.

Lindsey looks down at him and sees, not for the first time – not even close – that his brother's a kid, a tiny, sick, miserable little kid, and it's both easier and harder to remember when he's so damn vulnerable like this.

"I left Eliot's homework on the kitchen table," Sophie says from the doorway. "Do you think he'll even need it today? He looks awful."

Lindsey looks up. "Nah, from the looks of this, he'll be sick the rest of the week, too, maybe even into next week. You're right. Thanks anyway for get- " He cuts off and grabs the trash can right before Eliot convulses and gags.

"Whoa," Parker says from her perch on the end of the bed, sounding fascinated, "How'd you know he was gonna barf?"

Rubbing his retching brother's back soothingly, Lindsey replies, "He's ruined enough of my carpets for me to know what he looks and sounds like before he gets sick." He leaves out the part about how Eliot knows Lindsey's pre-vomiting signs too.

Parker peers over Eliot's shoulder into the double-bagged trash can and makes a face. "That's gross."

Lindsey throws an irritated look at her. "Then go away, Parker. You don't have to be here."

Sophie cuts in on Parker's pouting reply, "Let's go make him some soup," she suggests, not uneager herself to get out of the stuffy sick-room, "He'll like that," she lies.

"Can I dissect the chicken?" Parker asks, hopping happily off of the bed, "There's chicken in soup, right? Eliot never lets me play in his kitchen. 'Chicken' and 'kitchen' sound almost the same. I wonder why."

Sophie sends a prayer heavenward (as well as a _"You owe me"_ to Lindsey) as she herds the over-exuberant thief outside. "Yes, Parker, there's chicken in chicken soup."

As she closes the door, she hears Eliot ask Lindsey in a low voice, "'Member when Abby an' Vi died?" He coughs raggedly and sniffles. "I think- I think I almost died, too. I don' remember. I don' r'member, Linny."

She stops outside the door and listens (she may be one of the good guys now, but she is still a thief, after all), putting her finger on her lips (perhaps unnecessarily) to signal to Parker to keep quiet.

"You're not gonna die, Eliot," Lindsey says after a brief pause, sounding a little choked. "I'm not gonna let you die. We can afford to go to the hospital if you get that sick. This time." Sophie detects a bitter edge to his voice. "I'm not gonna let you die."

"Don' feel good, Lindsey," Eliot mumbles, willing to admit it now that they're alone, and Sophie feels a prick of guilt for listening in. She moves away from the door and Parker begins to follow when they hear something that stops them in their tracks.

"_Pretty girl on every corner_

_Sunshine turns the sky to gold_

_Warm, warm, it's always warm here_

_I can't take the cold."_

Lindsey. It's the first time they've ever heard him sing, and, as they'd learned when they'd "hired" him, he _can_ sing, very well, actually. He sounds different from Eliot, not only because of the thickness of the door, but…it's just different. Different, but completely Lindsey, as they've grown to know him. Everything that he never articulates is in his singing-

"That ain't a lullaby, Linny," Eliot interrupts cantankerously, "Friggin' creepy lyrics."

The two women hear Lindsey's sigh even from the hallway. "Shut up and go to sleep, or I'll start singin' '99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.' See how you like that," Lindsey replies, but begins singing a different song anyway over Eliot's retort of "I'll puke on you if you do."

"_Mama, how's the corn growin' out behind the house?_

_How's that old wind blowin' down south?_

_People are different out here_

_Like you said they'd be_

_But most times the one that feels different_

_Is me."_

They're still standing outside Eliot's room when Lindsey finishes his song and opens the door to grumble at them, "Thought you were gonna make him soup or burn down the kitchen or somethin'," even though they know that he knows that they've been there the whole time.

Sophie and Parker exchange amused smiles and let him get away with covering up his lapse in manliness like they do when Eliot drops his macho image (more so now that he's a kid) and shows that he does care about them.

"We got lost," Parker intones with her "Serious Expression."

"Yes," Sophie agrees with a twinkle in her eye, "It's quite a long hallway, you know," she says, "for an apartment."

Lindsey throws them an exasperated look (with an undercurrent of affection) and leads the way.

"You probably don't wanna stick around," he says, not-so-subtly kicking them out, "He's most likely got the flu on top of chicken pox and that's something you guys can catch. I'll take him to the doctor's again tomorrow."

"What about you?" Parker asks, "Won't you get sick?"

Lindsey shrugs. "Probably, yeah, but he's my brother."

And that's that.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

AN: In case you were wondering, the alias Ben Sinclair is the twin brother of Adam Sinclair (one of Eliot's aliases). *nods* This alias was originally going to be named Evelyn ([as in Adam and Eve] hey, it used to be a guy's name way back then) Sinclair until Lindsey threatened to send Hardison to a special hell dimension where electricity doesn't exist. In my first draft, this alias was "Ryan Massoff"…I'll wait until you get it…keep saying it…got it? Lyin' my ass off! But I decided that it was too corny. I'll save Ryan (incidentally, have you noticed how many of CK's characters are named this?) for later.

Yes, poor Brenda Leggett. Don't worry, she'll get her happily ever after-ish later.

Reference to "See Spot Run," in which Eliot justifies keeping Bandit the Dalmatian by saying that he's like the Leverage team in that they're black spots on white, just like the dog.

Also references "Sky's Gonna Open" when Eliot thinks about their younger sisters (Abigail and Viola), who died from the flu (as mentioned on _Angel)_ and also when Lindsey sings (he tells the team that he doesn't sing in front of people anymore). Sprout is the teddy bear that Lindsey sends him on their birthday.

Songs: "L.A. Song" and "Mama," both sung by Christian Kane. "L.A. Song," while quite pretty, should never be sung to a child as a lullaby unless they're already an _Angel_ or CK fan, in my opinion. Those lyrics really are creepy! I love the song, but I would probably never, for example, have a CK character sing it to a kid who's not mini!Eliot. At least, unless I was trying to be awkward about it…

I know nothing about medicine, but apparently, you _can_ get the chicken pox and the flu at the same time.


	10. Contagion

AN: Sorry for not updating last week. Personal issues and whatnot. Anyway, thank you guys so much for reading, and here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

**Contagion**

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Nate shows up uninvited at Lindsey's apartment with chicken soup, several bottles of sports drinks in different flavors, extra calamine lotion and oatmeal, and some more much-needed items a few days into Eliot's bout of combination flu-chicken pox. He is greeted by the distinctive stuffiness of an ill person's sickroom, or rather, _sickrooms_, as he soon discovers Lindsey draped over the toilet in the bathroom across from Eliot's room when he is led there by a frantically barking and tugging Bandit.

"Wha' d'rng hrr, Na'?" Lindsey asks, looking up at him with fever-blurred eyes.

"You too, huh?" Nate sighs, and reaches down to help the lawyer up from his seat on the tile floor. The skin under his hand is hot, so he runs a cool, wet towel over Lindsey's face and neck before continuing with his task of getting him vertical.

Bandit disappears into Master's room after he is sure that Hair-Like-Poodle-Man is taking good care of Smells-(Sick)-Like-Master.

"Y' gon' get sick, Na'," Lindsey remarks groggily as Nate leads him to the room at the end of the hall. "'S highly conta- c'ntagious."

"Yeah, I can see that," Nate says, and lowers him onto the bed, which is, surprisingly, seeing how sick Lindsey is, still made.

The sick man falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Nate rubs his head and thinks. He'd come here thinking that he could give Lindsey a hand with taking care of Eliot, as he had no doubt that the cooped-up, sick seven-year-old had to be giving Lindsey a hard time and pretty much driving him up the wall. He had anticipated Lindsey getting sick too as a possibility, but seeing it is something else.

"Hi Nate," Eliot rasps listlessly as he pushes by him to get to Lindsey, Bandit trailing behind him as always. From what Nate can see of Eliot's bare skin – mainly his arms and bare feet, and a flash of his face as he passes by – the pockmarks are still spreading densely across his pale skin.

To Nate's surprise – he really shouldn't be, at this point – Eliot crawls up onto the bed with Lindsey and snuggles right in, teddy bear firmly gripped in a be-blistered hand. Lindsey, still fast asleep as far as Nate can tell, reaches out and pulls the boy closer, leaving his arm wrapped around the smaller back in a protective gesture.

Eliot wriggles a little more to get comfortable (and possibly to scratch his multitude of itchy blisters) and catches Nate's curious eye in the process. "Keeps bad dreams away," he mumbles, turning his face back into his brother's chest, and promptly falls asleep.

"Huh," Nate says, and goes back out to the kitchen, Bandit following him. He soon discovers the reason when the dog nudges his food bowl against his foot and looks up at him with an expectant expression in his intelligent brown eyes.

"Haven't been fed since Lindsey got sick, whenever that was, have you?" Nate asks the Dalmatian. "Alright, I'll get your food, but let me finish getting Eliot and Lindsey taken care of first, okay?"

He doesn't feel as silly talking to the dog as he might have; Bandit has long since proved that he understands most of what is going on around him, especially things like Good Dog and No Pee On Wires.

Bandit sits obediently on his haunches with his bowl in front of him and watches as Nate pulls several ice packs out of the freezer – Nate can always count on Lindsey to keep an entire shelf of ice packs in both his freezer and Nate's for his own use, much like Eliot used to when he was a hitter – and fills one of the grocery sacks with them and a few bottles of the sports drinks. Nate stops by the bathroom, leaves a bottle there (just in case), then makes his way to Lindsey's room to check on the two sick McDonalds.

He takes both of their temperatures - not dangerously high, but high enough – and ponders the danger of prodding Lindsey awake (Eliot, though he still can pack a punch, is small enough that Nate can take it, or at least avoid it, but Lindsey has magic at his disposal, which might potentially be dangerous in a delirious state), but decides that the pale clamminess of the hitter's face is enough for him to risk it.

"Lindsey. Lindsey, you need to take these pills," he says, shaking Lindsey's shoulder. "Lindsey."

Eliot cracks an eye open a few more tries later, takes in Nate's worried, frustrated face, then pokes his brother in the chest, hard. "Linny, med'cine time." Though feverish himself, the boy looks positively gleeful at the prospect of force-feeding Lindsey his medicine.

"Mmrmph," mumbles Lindsey, rolling over and away from Eliot and his abusing fingers. "L've me 'lone, 'Liot," he says, sounding congested, then lets out a chest-rattling cough.

Nate sighs, puts down the regular flu medicine he'd brought just in case on the bedside table for later, and offers Eliot the children's chewable tablets. "These are yours."

The face Eliot makes then would have been ridiculous on an adult Eliot, but Eliot de-aged and with chicken pox scabs all over his face somehow manages to appear adorable while conveying absolute disgust and outrage.

"Eliot."

"Fine." Eliot obediently takes the pills and chews them, washing the taste out of his mouth with the lemon-flavored sports drink Nate offers him, but he rebelliously indulges in a thorough scratching of his torturously itching chest.

Nate, unlike Lindsey, who would have had kittens over it, simply raises his eyebrow at him and says, "I was under the impression that you were kind of vain as an adult, but maybe that's just me. Of course, what's one chicken pox scar among all those other battle scars you had back then? It's up to you, isn't it, how many disfiguring chicken pox scars you want to keep forever?" all with that one eyebrow, without even speaking a word.

Eliot pouts, yes, _pouts_ up at him and lets his hand fall. He looks down at his brother, still rolled over on his side, then gives him another poke in the back. "Linny, medicine time." When that doesn't work, he sighs, rolls his eyes, and bends closer to say into Lindsey's ear, "Linny, I don't feel good. Linny, can you wake up? Please? I really don't feel good."

The weak child's whine obviously gets through because Lindsey jolts and sits up. "Wha'? El, y' 'kay?"

"Med'cine time, Linny." Before Lindsey can fall back asleep, Eliot shoves the dose in his mouth and hands him his own bottle, which Nate replaces with a new one while he levels a look at Eliot that says, "Germs, Eliot."

Once the medicine is downed, half-chokingly, Nate plies the both of them abundantly with ice packs and backs out of the room.

Now all they need is sleep. They've already got their medicine, ice packs, and probably as much fluid as they can keep down without vomiting it back up. And they've got each other.

He'll stick around to keep an eye on them and make sure that neither of their fevers goes up any further, but he really can't do much more than this for now.

"Okay, Bandit," he says, walking back into the kitchen, "Where does Lindsey keep your food?"

This marks the day that Bandit's name for Nate transforms from Hair-Like-Poodle-Man to Man-Who-Fed-Bandit-And-Took-Care-of-Master-And-Sme lls-Like-Master-And-Fed-Bandit (short name Man-Who-Fed-Bandit). Bandit was a Happy Dog that day. (The day Master got up to play with Bandit was the day he was a Very Happy Dog. Bandit has a lot of Very Happy Days. In Bandit's eyes, this is because he is Loyal and Good and has a Good Master.)

Nate still has one more thing to do before he can sit down to Lindsey's high-def television and the game: he enters Eliot's room and changes the sheets on the twin-sized bed. From the looks of the room, Lindsey has spent the last few days and nights here instead of in his own bed, evidently only getting up to stagger to the bathroom once he fell ill. This makes sense, as Eliot had stumbled out of this room and straight to Lindsey's as soon as he'd missed him, professing in an even more childlike manner than his usual de-aged self that Lindsey's presence "keeps bad dreams away."

Yet again, Nate finds himself marveling at the closeness of the brothers, the trust between them, and the lengths that they would go for each other.

For all that Lindsey had initially made fun of Eliot's chicken pox, from what Sophie had said and the evidence before Nate, Lindsey had sacrificed his own health to take care of Eliot. Potentially contracting the flu isn't much, considering that doctors, nurses, and parents do it every day, but Nate knows too, that Lindsey wouldn't fail to lay down his life for the sake of Eliot's happiness – not just his life or safety, but his contentment. He has already proven it before, when he had shown up ready to take his own life to turn Eliot back into an adult.

The thing is, if it had been Eliot in Lindsey's shoes, Nate knows that Eliot would have done the same, perhaps not in the same way, but there is no doubt in Nate's mind that Eliot would do anything in his power to make his brother happy.

It's hard to remember sometimes, among all the teasing and mocking and overall squabbling, but underneath all that, there's a deep, powerful love that rears its head to an almost terrifying effect when it's needed the most.

It worries Nate sometimes, thinking of what the brothers would do for each other (and may have already done). The fatherly role that Lindsey has taken over Eliot of late concerns him, too – will there finally be a day when Eliot's distress at being a child instead of the adult he's supposed to be pushes Lindsey to break his promise to steer away from the self-sacrificing spell that would turn Eliot back? The knowledge that it would hurt Eliot more than it would Lindsey, coupled with the fact that there are four more people now who care deeply about him, is the only thing, Nate suspects, that is keeping Lindsey from going through with his original plan.

Family. Lindsey has a family now, other than Eliot, and that's enough...for now.

Taking some cleaning supplies out of his bags, Nate pushes these dark thoughts out of his mind as he dons rubber gloves and a mask and concentrates on scrubbing the place clean of chicken pox and flu germs. Maybe he'll even be able to avoid getting sick himself.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

As if.

Nate gets sick, as he'd feared, but so do Sophie and Hardison. Parker somehow manages to steer clear of it all. Lucky girl.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A week later finds her scratching a multitude of blisters with Bunny safely tucked in her be-spotted arms, refusing her oatmeal bath on the grounds that oatmeal is gross and wanting a chocolate bath instead.

Everyone's still too achy and cranky to argue.

This incident would forevermore be referred to as the "Fondue Parker" debacle.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

AN: Don't worry, Parker will be fine, even though she has adult chicken pox (which is potentially dangerous). Sticky and still itchy, but fine.

Okay, so my plans at the moment are to end this story with a last chapter to wrap things up (make everyone who was sick better, romantic pairings are paired…um…yeah…Oh yeah, and family stuff is more family-like than ever). Just a warning, okay? Next chapter is the last, unless I get a sudden inspiration to add a better ending.

Also, since people keep asking, yes, I will resolve the de-aged problem. Just…not quite yet. I'm still having fun with mini-El. Thanks!


	11. Four-Letter Words

AN: Thank **Ultrawoman **for reminding me that I haven't posted the last chapter for this story yet. :D Sorry I haven't been "with it" lately. That goes for review replies, PM replies...posting. Bunch of stuff going on in RL. But anyway…Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

**Four-Letter Words**

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When Eliot reluctantly returns to school, he finds that he's one of the last of Ms. Leggett's class to do so - hey, chicken pox and the flu at the same time will take a lot out of you, okay? - and that _holy frack_, his teacher is dating the other second-grade teacher, Mr. Frut! They seem pretty...happy, too. In a bizarre, awkwardly cute kind of way. It seems that they'd gotten close after their students decided that they were almost all going to get sick at the same time (possibly due to their close proximity during the events of The-Thing-That-Must-Not-Be-Mentioned-In-The- Presence-Of-Adults).

"Dammit!" Lindsey frowns when Eliot tells him the news. "So much for that."

"I thought you didn't like her," Eliot says. So he was right; Lindsey had lied about not liking Ms. Leggett.

"She was an asset," Lindsey replies, and Eliot's annoyance at being lied to turns into a wholly different kind of annoyed.

_Thwap!_ "Stop thinking of people as commodities, Linny. It ain't healthy," he scolds.

"Tell that to Nate!" Lindsey says in defense, "And Sophie! And while you're at it, tell Hardison that people aren't computer programs, and Parker that people's pockets aren't her own personal ATMs. An' you know what? I ain't a punching bag, so stop hitting me!"

_Smack!_

Bandit "earmuffs" himself obediently at the four-letter word that explodes from Lindsey at that point.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Hi Eliot," Jenna Leeman says.

"Hi Jenna," Eliot says warily, backing away slowly. However, there is no way to escape the two sticky hands that reach for his face and pull it towards Jenna's puckered, watermelon-flavored Princess Glitter Gloss-smeared lips.

If the muffled scream that erupts from Eliot's mouth, accompanied by frantically flailing hands is undignified, well…say that in public and that's libel, and you can take it up with his lawyer.

_And_ Eliot will kick you in the shins, too.

So there.

(And ew. Girl cooties are gross! Especially if there's glitter involved. Seriously!)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Among the team, things also pretty much go back to the way they were. Except...Except some things are subtly different.

Nate isn't the only one who notices that, while their squabbling may even have increased in the course of their quarantine together, Lindsey and Eliot's relationship has gotten slightly more complicated, yet less so at the same time. It's…Well, it's different. It almost reminds Nate of Sam, but…only_ almost_ because Sam had been a completely different kind of child from Eliot. So really, this doesn't remind Nate of Sam at all. Except…

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sophie watches the brothers out of the corner of her eye during one Saturday movie night.

Lindsey is sprawled out on the couch, seeming to be completely at ease, with Eliot tucked under his arm and fast asleep. The boy's cheek rests on the ex-lawyer's chest, rising and falling with each breath, and a chubby hand holds tight onto a fistful of flannel shirt. A larger hand smooths out the tangles in the messy mop of dark blond hair with slow, gentle strokes.

A raised eyebrow lets Sophie know that she has been caught, and she returns the look with a knowing smile of her own. Lindsey chuckles softly and turns his attention back to the movie, letting his hand settle protectively on the boy's head, the smile lingering on his lips. Eliot shifts in his sleep and punches Lindsey sluggishly in the side, prompting only an annoyed huff from the older man and a slight readjustment into a more comfortable position.

Parker snuggles in closer to Lindsey's other side, but only so that she can reach over the two brothers and snag a bag of Hardison's snacks from the pile between the slumbering Eliot and the hacker.

"Hey! Get your own movie food, woman!"

"It's mine now!"

Sophie laughs silently at the two younger thieves' antics and the hitter's rolled eyes (being stuck in the middle, literally, since he can't move from under Eliot's weight without waking him), and feels Nate's arm wrap around her, warm and safe.

She smiles up at him. Blue eyes twinkle down at her.

Content. She is content. This is her family, and this is where she wants to be, where she wants to stay. Always on the run, always changing identities – she has never stayed so long in one place, stayed one _person_ for this long (at least since her tumultuous and best-left-forgotten childhood). She has never wanted to _stay_ before.

Things have changed, and she doesn't know exactly when, but somewhere along the line, her relationship with Nate has turned into exactly that – a relationship – rather than just a fling, or teammates with benefits. She…loves Nate, and the way his eyes shine down at her tells her that he feels the same.

He smiles at her and presses a chaste kiss on her forehead. She closes her eyes and languorously leans into his chest with a contented sigh.

"Enough!" Lindsey erupts from the other couch in a whispered yell. "You'll wake him up! This," he slices his hand up and down an imaginary line in front of him, "is a wall. It is magic and you can't hack it, and you can't break into it. Neither of you may cross it. No loopholes or back doors. Understood? Now watch the damn pirate movie like adults."

"Lindsey," Parker whispers, "I finished my bag." She waves the empty snack bag in his face, spilling crumbs into his lap. "I want more."

Lindsey groans. His head thuds against the back of the couch.

Parker rests her chin on Lindsey's shoulder, makes a pitiful mewling sound, and breathes chip-breath into his ear.

"Hey!" interjects Hardison as Lindsey swings another bag of Chex Mix (Traditional flavor) over the imaginary magic wall into Parker's gleeful, garlicky hands.

"Sorry, man," Lindsey says apologetically, "She's more annoying than you are."

"Traitor," Hardison mutters, "Traitor to the Little Brothers United club. I'm revoking your membership."

"In case you haven't noticed," Lindsey says, "Big Brother ain't so big anymore."

As if to make his point, Eliot moves a knee up into Lindsey's lap and wriggles his little body into place, latching onto Lindsey's neck like a…like a monkey. He settles back down with a contented little sigh, his nose pressed into the side of his brother's neck, making Lindsey snort because even for a real seven-year-old, this is a bit too cuddly.

"Hardison…" he warns when the hacker pulls his phone out.

Hardison snaps the picture anyway. Just because. And another for luck.

"He'll beat you up and I'll laugh."

"We should take pictures of that," Parker giggles with an audible crunch.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

In other news, the day that Eliot goes back to school, Lindsey insists on parking the van a block from the school so that they can monitor how Eliot is doing – both in terms of trouble-making and his health. They get raided by the school police as potential child-snatching suspects four hours into their watch. The appearance of five FBI badges in the cops' faces solves the problem, but they move the van to someplace less…suspicious.

Hardison avoids his beloved Orange Squeeze for an entire week and a half after his bout with the flu – the muttered under-the-breath laments about the trauma of orange, stinging vomit gives the others a clue as to why. He goes back to his soda after Nate catches him dozing on his keyboard with a long line of "r;ehgggggggggggggggggg" on the screen. Man needs his caffeine to work, brah.

Lindsey adds a new nickname for Eliot to his long list: Outbreak Monkey. Eliot hates it immensely and stops making dessert for eight team dinners. Parker and Hardison force Lindsey to apologize so that they can have their delicious baked sweets again.

However, it takes an entire three months for peanut butter cookies to make their reappearance. (Some might credit this with the replacement of "Outbreak Monkey" with "Snuggle Monkey," but they would be wrong. Eliot isn't nearly that spiteful. They just didn't have the right brand of peanut butter in _any_ of the stores he frequented for those three months. That's all.)

Finally, Parker has a new scar. On her butt. Lindsey and Hardison have a brief, unmanly giggle about it when she changes in front of them during a con.

"Scar," snickers Lindsey.

"Butt," titters Hardison.

"Guys," Sophie and Nate chorus.

"What?" asks Parker, confused.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

AN: This is a probable maybe ending for this story. This is what I was unsure about when I asked people for ideas in Chapter 8. Do you guys think that this chapter solved everything? (And as for turning Eliot back, I'll do that, but in a separate story, _later.)_ If I do add an epilogue, I don't know what I'd put in it…This wrapped things up, I think. (Except for the thing Lindsey used to blackmail Nate. But I have a plan for that.)

References/other notes:

To "earmuff" a kid means to put your hands over his/her ears when a bad word/dirty joke is being said. One may also instruct a child to" earmuff" him/herself.

The Jenna thing came out of nowhere. I thought I'd finished this chapter, but no, I was in bed and my lavender plot bunny named Bruce appeared in front of me and demanded that I write this in. But it makes complete sense, doesn't it? Or no…?

The pirate movie they're watching is one of the _Pirates of the Caribbean _films. They had a marathon that night. Hardison is an Orly 'n' Depp fan, Parker likes how they swing on ropes, Nate uses movies to pick up new ideas for cons, and Sophie thinks that Johnny Depp in eyeliner is dreamy. Eliot likes to critique the fighting, and Lindsey feels a sort of sympathy for Bootstrap Bill Turner's fate (sold his soul).

Traditional Chex Mix is awesome. 'Nuff said.

Van: Thanks for the idea, **Gigi13**!

Outbreak Monkey – This is a reference to the movie _Outbreak_, in which a deadly disease is initially spread by a monkey. Also, Eliot hates monkeys (canon). Lindsey, of course, knows this, and can't help but rib his "little" brother about it.

Lindsey loves his peanut butter cookies. Referenced in "Lindsey's Adventures in L-Space."


End file.
